The Funeral Dress (30 page)

“You think everybody ends up happy?” Emmalee asked, her hand still resting on Leona’s collar.

“I like to think so,” Mr. Fulton said. “But I think for some of us it takes a lifetime to get there. For others, I think it takes dying.”

Emmalee’s eyes swelled with tears at such a kind reassurance. She pinched her nose tight.

“Hon, I’ve heard from Runt.” Mr. Fulton leaned closer to Emmalee. “He and Mettie are coming to the visitation.” He paused. “They want to see the baby.”

Emmalee’s body stiffened. “You said they were going to leave Kelly Faye be until after the funeral.”

“They’re not taking her.” He patted Emmalee’s back as he might the baby’s. “They just want to come pay their respects. Curtis was a friend of Runt’s.”

“That may be, but Kelly Faye ain’t part of the visitation.”

“I understand that,” he said. “Let’s not worry about that now. They probably won’t get here till tomorrow anyway.”

“You seen Nolan?” Emmalee asked, her voice turning anxious.

“No. Not yet. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually. He usually stops by to see if I need a hand with anything.” Mr. Fulton laughed a little. “You know your father, no matter how mad he gets, it never seems to last long. His mood changes like the wind.”

Emmalee nodded and pressed her fingers against her eyes, trying to push the sadness back inside.

“Basil,” Mrs. Fulton said, the sound of her voice causing Emmalee to shudder. “We got at least fifty people in here, and I see more walking down the street. You keep a close watch on things. You, too, Emmalee. Curtis’s got some good people on his side, but I don’t know who all will show from Leona’s.” Mrs. Fulton picked up a porcelain figurine and held it to her middle. “I’m not staying up past midnight keeping track of my things while these men sip their liquor and swap their filthy stories.”

“Hester,” Mr. Fulton said.

“You can Hester me all you want, but I don’t want to find anybody passed out on the sofa in the morning or empty whiskey bottles under the cushions like happened when Frank Dawson passed on,” she said, her voice growing louder.

“Quit worrying, Hester. These are all good people,” Mr. Fulton said.

The telephone rang, and Mrs. Fulton motioned for her husband to answer the door as she ran for the receiver on the other side of the living room. “Fulton-Pittman Funeral Home. May I help you?” Mrs. Fulton answered, looking stern at her husband and pointing her finger toward the front door.

“Yes, the wreath went up. Yes, it was the Lane couple. Yes, ma’am, it was both of them, Curtis and Leona. On the way to church supper. Yes, ma’am, they’re dead,” Mrs. Fulton said and rolled her eyes while she placed the figurine inside a cedar box sitting on the floor. “Yes, it was a tragedy sure enough. Yes, that’s right. The service will be on Tuesday with burial to follow right there at the Church of Christ. That’s fine. Thanks for calling.”

She replaced the receiver and walked back into the kitchen. “Lord, I don’t hang that wreath on that door just to be announcing bingo.”

Emmalee hid her face behind her hands, camouflaging her laughter. She stepped across the room and knelt next to Cora, sneaking a quick peek at her baby. “Mrs. Hixson, would you mind hanging on to Kelly for a minute? I want to stretch my legs outside, and I don’t want her smelling all that smoke.”

“Love to. But call me Cora, hon.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Emmalee steered through the crowd of people gathering in the hall, relieved to be in the cold air and out of the dimly lit room smelling of both death and fresh lilies. Several men from Tennewa who worked on the loading dock and in the cutting room stood on the porch, enjoying their cigars and conversation. She pushed her way to the far edge and leaned over the banister. The moon was nearly full, and she scanned the sky for the stars often hidden from her view back in the cover of the holler.

An engine suddenly sputtered and coughed down the road. Emmalee stretched her neck forward to get a better look. It sounded familiar, like Nolan’s old truck. But when it passed in front of the funeral home, Emmalee could see it wasn’t their beat-up Ford but a better-looking Chevrolet. She turned back toward the house and spied Ruthie next door, standing in her kitchen window. She was washing the evening’s dishes while her husband stood behind her, holding their daughter in his arms. Ruthie chuckled about something, and her husband kissed her neck. She smiled and continued about her chore.

Emmalee walked back inside the funeral home and took her place next to Leona.

The next morning Emmalee woke early with Kelly Faye. The evening’s last mourners had not left the funeral home until after midnight just as Mrs. Fulton had feared. Fortunately, the baby had slept soundly in the cradle next to Emmalee even though loud outbursts of laughter peppered the talk downstairs.

Emmalee placed the baby in the bed next to her and rested her finger in the palm of her infant’s tiny hand. Kelly Faye squirmed and tightened her grip. Emmalee had missed the feeling of Kelly’s soft skin next to hers during the time they had been apart. The baby kicked and cooed as if she understood her mama’s sadness and was trying to brighten her mood.

Hours later, Emmalee diapered and nursed her and rocked her in the cradle till she drifted back to sleep. The house was still, but Emmalee was too awake and pulled the robe over her shoulders and headed downstairs to fix an egg and a cup of fresh coffee.

The Fultons’ kitchen walls were covered in paper with flowers and vines painted all over it. There were two ovens, one set above the other, and the water poured fast from the sink’s shiny faucet. China plates and bowls were stacked neatly and stored in cabinets with glass fronts. Every pot and pan had its place. Every surface was wiped clean.

The Fultons slept late this morning as they had warned Emmalee they were prone to do after a long visitation. So she moved quietly about the kitchen. She started
the coffee and opened the refrigerator and searched for the carton of eggs. A jug of fresh orange juice caught her eye, and she placed it on the counter.

The telephone rang, and Emmalee jumped, not accustomed to the harsh, trilling sound. She hesitated but reached for the phone mounted on the kitchen wall, hoping the sound had not disturbed the Fultons sleeping upstairs. She lifted the receiver to one ear and tucked her hair behind the other. Emmalee pulled the robe farther over her shoulder as if she needed to cover herself before speaking to the caller on the opposite end of the line.

“Fulton-Pittman Funeral Home. May I help you?” she asked, reciting the greeting she had heard Mrs. Fulton offer over and over the night before.

“Who’s this?” a man’s voice asked.

“Fulton’s Funeral Home.”

“I mean who’s this on the phone?”

Emmalee’s stomach fluttered. She had heard this voice before, and she reached for the back of the kitchen chair. “This is Emmalee. Emmalee Bullard.”

A long pause filled the distance between her and the caller.

“Emmalee? This is Billy. What are you doing there?”

His voice sounded deeper than Emmalee had remembered. “Billy? Is that really you?” Emmalee asked.

“Yeah, it’s me. But what are you doing there? Mother didn’t mention you staying at the house.”

“Not surprised. Your mama ain’t too fond of me,” Emmalee said.

“Don’t pay her no mind. You okay?”

“Yeah, everybody’s fine. I been a little sick. Baby has
too.” Emmalee poured a cup of coffee and put it on the table. She sat down and pushed the coffee away.

“But you’re okay? You’re both okay?”

“Yeah.” Emmalee rested her elbows on the table as she held the receiver tight against her ear, desperate to inch closer to the boy she had convinced herself she didn’t care about any more.

“Mother told me you say the baby is mine.”

“You know she is, Billy Fulton. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Another long pause drifted between them.

“I know, Emmalee. I know.”

“You coming back to Cullen … to see her … the baby, that is?”

“I don’t know. Mother wants me to stay here in Knoxville and finish the semester. Exams’ll be starting in a few more days.”

Emmalee stood and shoved the chair underneath the kitchen table. “And what about you, Billy? What do you want? You got a thought in your head that don’t belong to your mama first?”

“Emmalee, come on. This is a hell of a lot to deal with. I don’t know what to think. Hell, a baby. It’s kind of a big surprise.”

“A surprise? Really? No kidding, Billy.” Emmalee’s tone was growing shrill. “You didn’t have a thought before yesterday that she might be your own? You saw her being born, for crying out loud, Billy. Or you figure I sleep with any boy come my way? Is that what your mama’s told you? Is that what you think?”

“I don’t think that. I never thought that. Good Lord, Emmalee. You should know me better than that.”

Emmalee nodded. She did know that about Billy.

“Look, I’m real sorry about all of this. Real sorry. Hell, I never thought this would happen,” Billy said. “But you’re the one got up and walked off.”

“Walked off.” Emmalee was shouting now. “Shit, Billy, you didn’t love me enough to tell your own mama about me, even when there was no Kelly Faye.” She paced the kitchen floor as far as the telephone cord would allow. Again, she heard Billy say he was sorry. She wished that was all she really needed from him, an acknowledgment he had, if only for an evening, if only for a moment, truly loved her. But Emmalee needed more than that now.

“Well, Mother knows everything about us thanks to your daddy,” Billy said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not ready to be stuck with a baby. I’m sorry, Emmalee. I’m just not.”

Emmalee held the receiver out in front of her. She wanted to bang it on the table but took it back to her ear. “Take your time, Billy. I wouldn’t want to rush you into anything. But so you know, this baby can’t take care of herself. They don’t come that way. And I got my own blood nipping at my heels trying to steal her from me. But if’d you come back to Cullen, they’d leave me be. I know they would.”

Emmalee swore she could feel Billy’s fear and frustration blowing through the telephone line, a wisp of warm air sweeping right past her cheek. She could hear his breathing as if he was standing right by her. She swore she could smell him, maybe even reach out and touch him.

“You should have done something, Emmalee, done something so this never happened in the first place.”

“Done what?” Emmalee asked.

“Look, I can’t talk about this right now.” Billy sounded angry. “Either one of my parents awake?”

“No. They’re both sleeping. And the baby’s starting to fuss.” Emmalee got up and placed the receiver back on the telephone, never bothering to mention Billy’s call.

Emmalee hadn’t expected Billy to come and rescue her, but her cheeks burned from the embarrassment of just asking. She tried to stifle a cry, but the tears rolled down her cheeks. She sat back down and laid her head on the cold kitchen table.

A soft knock sounded at the back door. Emmalee looked up to see Cora standing there, her face visible in the glass set in the middle of the door.

“Cora. What you doing here?” Emmalee asked. She hurried over and fumbled with the lock.

“Hey there, little mama,” Cora said as she waddled into the Fultons’ kitchen. “I knew the visitation would be picking up early today, and I figured you might need some help with the baby.” Cora looked around the kitchen. “Where is the baby?”

“Upstairs. Sleeping.”

“Grieving’s exhausting work, even for a little one, I guess.” Cora juggled her large purse and a black umbrella in one hand and a paper bag in the other. “Here, hon, I had a few baby clothes left of my own,” she said and handed Emmalee the bag. “Don’t know what I been keeping them for. They ain’t nothing special or fancy like I hear your Mettie done bought you, but I made every one of them myself and they’ll sure keep Kelly Faye warm on a cold day. I can promise you that.”

Emmalee looked at the clothes folded neat and stacked high inside the paper bag. She opened her arms wide and welcomed Cora into the kitchen. “Thank you.” Emmalee pulled another mug from the cabinet and poured more coffee. She handed it to Cora. “Can I ask you a question? But you got to promise to be honest with me, even if it means hurting my feelings.”

Cora nodded and took a sip from the mug. “Sure.”

“It’s just that you know so much about babies and mothering, and I was wondering if you think I can take care of a baby on my own?”

“Of course you can, sweetie,” Cora said, sitting her mug on the counter and reaching for Emmalee’s hand. “But you ain’t alone.”

Emmalee brushed away another tear.

Many of the day’s visitors were the same men and women who had come the night before. They picked up their conversations where they had left them and carried on. Others like Sissie Boyd and her mother visited for the first time and took their turn filing past the Lanes’ caskets. They hugged Emmalee and doted on Kelly Faye. Even Mrs. Cain from the welfare office came for a short visit. She studied the baby and complimented Leona’s red dress, but she did not mention Mettie or Runt.

Grieving the dead, Emmalee thought, brought Cullen together like the Fourth of July parade through the center of town or reunion Sunday at the Baptist Church, and Emmalee enjoyed being in the midst of all the activity. This was a part of death she had never known before.
She enjoyed sharing her sadness with everyone else, even if the thought did sound strange.

Emmalee saw no sign of Nolan. She hadn’t really expected him to come pay his respects after he stormed out of the funeral home, leaving her in the Fultons’ care. But she figured he’d be eager to flaunt the news he was the Fultons’ kin, that Basil and Hester shared his grandchild, birthed by his own Emmalee. She felt of great value to Nolan for the first time in her life, more valuable than any piece of junk he had ever hauled back to the holler. Surely he was pleased he had found a purpose for his daughter after all these years.

Every so often Emmalee walked to the porch’s edge to look for his truck. She hoped he would be there when Runt and Mettie came by. She wasn’t sure if Nolan would help or hurt, but she wanted him there all the same. But Emmalee always hurried back to her post, afraid Leona would be missing her if she stayed away too long or Mrs. Fulton would take her stool and shoo her back upstairs.